"By no means," said Mrs. Mortomley, who, being taken by surprise, was disgusted at the announcement. "You have been very secret about your love affairs, Jones; but of course I cannot complain. Tell me when you wish to leave, and leave. I can suit myself at once."
Whereat Miss Jones smiled. After all, lady's maids who understand their work are as scarce as good and economical cooks.
Nevertheless, Dolly stood her ground; Jones had not treated her with the confidence she thought she deserved, and she should go; and she did go, and the marriage never took place.
Her fiancé had not proposed to remove his beloved immediately from Homewood, and when he found Mrs. Mortomley quite decided in the matter, he repented him of his offer.
So Miss Jones procured another situation, and Mrs. Mortomley had no maid.
Now to Dolly—the most untidy of created beings—this was a discomfort.
She did not possess—she had never possessed—that admirable gift of orderliness which adds so much to the comfort and prosperity of middle-class life. She was like a hurricane blowing about a room. In five minutes after she began to dress, everything was in confusion, not an article remained in its proper place, and when at last she sailed through the doorway, arrayed in whatever might chance to be the extreme of the then fashion, she left a chaos behind, suggestive of nothing but a ship-wreck of millinery, jewellery, laces, silks, and all the other accessories of a lady's toilette.
How Mrs. Mortomley ever managed to evolve a presentable appearance out of such a whirlwind of confusion, might well have puzzled those who believe that out of disorder nothing can be produced excepting disorder; but not even Mrs. Werner could have been considered a better-dressed woman than Dolly, whose greatest error in taste was a tendency to exaggerate whatever style might be the fashion of the day.
When large crinolines were in fashion, there was not a doorway in Homewood sufficiently wide to permit her to pass through it comfortably; when long dresses prevailed, Dolly's trailed yards behind her over the grass; when short skirts first came in, Dolly made a display of high heels and ankles, which Rupert caricatured effectively.
It was the same with her hair. When chignons first appeared, Mrs. Mortomley astonished the members of her household by coming down one morning to breakfast with a second and larger head than her own; and in this style she persisted till the short reign of tight plaits succeeded, during which she wore her hair flat as if gummed. But for her husband's interference, she would at one time have presented society with a sight of her perfectly straight tresses streaming down her back, and it was with difficulty Rupert persuaded her to refrain from cutting her front locks and setting up an opposition to her child's Gainsborough fringe.